Call To Arms
by Blake Stone
Summary: *Chapter six is here*. Sergeant Stone leads the squad on a decisive patrol. Please Read and Review.
1. Call To Arms

I was sitting on the ground, partially concealed by the long grass, when the Germans came through the treeline. A squad of about seven men, all with Kar 98s or MP40s.  
  
We saw each other at about the same time, but my Garand was laying on the ground beside me. I made a dive for it, while Sergeant Morgan opened up with his Thompson submachine gun.  
  
The Germans, seeing that our squad of nine men outmatched them, turned and made a break for it into the woods. I brought my Garand up and aimed, loosing three rounds in their direction. The slowest German fell as his chest opened up. Morgan let another long burst into the bush that the Germans had disappeared into.  
  
He ran our in front and yelled the most important command a leader could give, "Follow me!"  
  
I jumped up into the hot pursuit behind Morgan, then heard crashing sounds in the bush as the rest of the squad followed. The Germans came into view again and I emptied the rest of my clip at them. The gun ejected the stripper clip and I yanked another out of my pouches and jammed it in.  
  
Apparently the Germans had decided that running wouldn't save them and they would turn and fight, the four that remained, anyway.  
  
As we came into view of the Germans, three Kar 98s and an MP40 tracked Morgan and me. We dived for cover behind a mass of dead logs and such. We paused and listened to the Garands fire, but no BAR. "Put some BAR fire on them!" I shouted, but there was still nothing.  
  
Finally, out of desperation, I stood up and fired at the MP40 gunner. The rounds cut into him and threw him to the ground.  
  
I ducked back down as 7.92 fire tracked towards me. I heard more Garands fire and then the roar of Morgan's Thompson, but still no BAR.  
  
Three more Garand shots and it was all over. The Germans all lay dead in their tracks, smoking gunshot wounds punched through them.  
  
It was time to regroup and assess our losses. It had been weeks since our last resupply and we were running low on everything, especially ammunition.  
  
I had spent three of my stripper clips, leaving me only three more to fight with, Sarge had spent two clips from his reserve of four, our BAR gunner hadn't spent a round of ammo because the assistant BAR gunner, Mark Stankowitz, had demanded the use of the BAR from our regular gunner, Joe Miller. Then, he managed to jam the weapon in the process by dropping it in the mud while the bolt was open, then attempting to fire it.  
  
The other soldiers in the squad, Pvt. Ben Doon, Pvt. Hartmann, Pvt. Trout, Pvt. Horn, had only fired a few rounds. We would have to make a run for resupply. After a quick discussion, Sgt. Morgan made it clear that we would push on and complete our patrol.  
  
I still had five rounds in my Garand and the three stripper clips amounted to twenty-four rounds. I would be all right for a certain amount of time. I looked over at Stankowitz, who was smoking a cigarette. "Hey, where'd you get that?" I questioned him as it had been about a week since our supply of cigarettes had run out.  
  
It turned out that Mark had taken four packs and placed them in his BAR clip pouches, sacrificing bullet space for cigarettes.  
  
When Sgt. Morgan discovered this, he dressed Stankowitz up and down for fifteen minutes, and then his took the four packs and divided them up among everyone in the squad except for Stankowitz.  
  
I was tempted to save them and smoke them over several days, but I didn't like them a whole lot. Myself, along with Sgt. Morgan, preferred a fine cigar, only smoking cigarettes in a pinch. I found the best thing to do with them was to trade them for ammo and other things.  
  
We finally moved out on patrol again, the woods ran in pretty much a straight line, with a large clearing on one side and a road on the other. We tried to stay close to the road so that we could ambush any kraut vehicles we saw along the way, but none ever showed up.  
  
I found the cigarettes rather unpleasant to smoke, being a Polish brand, so I wrapped them in some cloth and placed them in one of my empty stripper clip pouches.  
  
It was then that we had our second contact with the Germans. We saw the about one hundred yards away. I dropped down to the ground with the rest of my squad and then slid forward when Sgt. Morgan called soldiers that had Garands up.  
  
"All right. That's one hundred yards; lay down some fire on them. I don't know what they are so interested in, but if they are, so am I."  
  
We aimed and opened fire, a hundred yards was a long shot, but we had the volume of fire necessary to bring them all down before they knew what was happening.  
  
I slapped another stripper clip in and then we advanced. We walked the hundred yards to the German position carefully, checking for snipers along the way.  
  
The Germans were all dead; our Garand shots had taken them in their upper chests and heads. We checked around and found what the Germans had been so interested in, four dead 82nd airborne troops were lying sprawled out on the ground. They had been cut down by what looked like MP40 fire.  
  
Despite his moral opinions, Sgt. Morgan ordered us to search the bodies for weapons and ammo. I respected and understood Sgt. Morgan's moral dilemma. I can't say that I liked stripping our own me for equipment, but we needed the ammo.  
  
The man I searched hadn't been dead long, in fact, his body was still warm. The man had been carrying an M-1 Garand so I was in luck. I took the man's four stripper clips from his ammo belt, including the one from his rifle, which told me he hadn't even got a shot off.  
  
The people that needed ammo must have got it. Sgt. Morgan was stripping pistol ammo off the paratroopers to reload the empty clips for his Thompson.  
  
We stayed there for a while. We cooked the paratrooper's rations that we had found in their packs and ate them. Once again, I didn't feel right about eating the paratrooper's food, but our food had run out days ago and we had been surviving off what we could find in the forest. In payment and respect, we dug shallow graves for the men and marked them for grave detail to pick up.  
  
We moved out again just after we finished burying the paratroopers. We intended to find shelter for the night, so we continued on down into the woods. We moved with Sgt. Morgan in the lead. We knew the Germans would be sending reinforcements along and we would have to be at the ready. Morgan told Miller not to let Stankowitz touch the BAR.  
  
Sgt. Morgan held his hand up in a fist to tell us to drop. I dropped to the ground and tried to make myself as concealed as possible. Then I heard it, the soft sound of voices and footsteps coming through the bush. Then the patrol passed right by us, sitting in the bush. I aimed for a shot, but Morgan and Mellar opened fire on them before I could.  
  
Their bullets cut into the Germans. One man was hit in the leg and tried to dart off into the bush. I snapped my Garand up and fired three rounds into his back; the man fell forward onto his knees and then onto the ground.  
  
The BAR roared at fleeing men, but then, the battle turned against us. A German squad had come up behind us and then ambushed us.  
  
I whirled around and began to pump rounds out of my Garand. Machine gun fire filled the air. Finally we turned and ran. As I ran, I yanked a grenade free from my belt and dropped it behind me. It went off and I heard screams of pain. Then I finally saw some rocks to use as cover. Webber jumped behind one, then I slid down behind him and reloaded my rifle.  
  
The air filled with sounds of battle, Garands and Kar 98s being fired. I threw another grenade over the rock and saw it throw some Germans away when it exploded.  
  
I stood up and started firing again. I managed to drop one German for each round fired. It was a pitched battle, the Germans were being reinforced and we were alone.  
  
We turned and fell back, stopping every so often to return fire or throw a grenade.  
  
We burst forth from the treeline and into a farmer's field. A white house sat in the center surrounded by the farmland. I made a break for it, darting as fast as possible for cover.  
  
I slid down behind a short mortar wall, and then opened up on the Germans, firing until the bloc clip shot up out of the action. I dropped back down and slipped another into the gun.  
  
The Germans came through the treeline and opened fire on us. 9mm rounds smashed against the wall I was taking cover behind. I yanked out yet another grenade and threw it over the wall. It went off and the air filled with screams and German curses.  
  
I heard Sgt. Morgan's Thompson make well-placed comments at the Germans, and then I popped up and began to fire. That's when all hell broke loose.  
  
I was aiming at a German soldier when a potato masher grenade went off barley eight meters from me. I was deafened by the concussion and knocked to the ground. I heard something ping off my helmet.  
  
As I lay there, my left arm began to hurt. I started to panic, as I could only feel pain and the cold of the ground under me and hear nothing. I felt along my left arm and felt warm blood seeping through my field jacket.  
  
I shook my head, trying to clear it and then stood up, bringing my Garand to my eye. One German soldier was stumbling across the ground; his gray uniform stained with blood from shrapnel wounds. I fired three rounds, putting the man down permanently. I popped off my two remaining rounds into a German that was breaking though the treeline. The bloc clip ejected and I crammed another one in.  
  
"Fall back to the house!" Yelled Sgt. Morgan.  
  
I turned and ran towards the house. I ran around the side for cover and then laid down some fire for my retreating friends.  
  
We were winning, I could tell, now only a few Germans pursued us out of the treeline. I reloaded my rifle, once again becoming worried about ammunition.  
  
One man came out of the bush. I fired a single round. It smashed through him and dropped him to his back. He rolled around for a moment and then laid still.  
  
The forest returned to a state of perpetual quietness. No more Germans came from the treeline. Birds began to chirp again.  
  
We regrouped near the house. Sgt. Morgan had a take on the situation. "Who have we lost?" Was his first question. We did a quick head count, Pvt. Trout was the only person unaccounted for. He had been standing next to Hartmann when an MP40 burst had hit him in the back. We would be able to head back and mark his body for grave detail later.  
  
"We can spend the night in this house, I don't think any Germans got away to tell about us. Give it an hour, then we can send out a patrol to search for Trout and any other German Patrols."  
  
The door to the house was locked, but we used a bayonet to pry it open. It was cold inside, which seemed wrong. Whenever I remembered my house, I remember the warmth of the fire burning inside.  
  
The entrance was empty. It lead into a small living room, there was a fireplace, and a few pictures still adorned the walls, but there was no furniture.  
  
I swallowed and gripped my Garand even tighter, now with its bayonet attached. Being in the house, we would possibly be facing close contact with the Germans. The bayonet would be useful against them in the confines of the house.  
  
The structure was clear. Sgt. Morgan and myself went to check the outside root cellar, while Hartmann and Horn made a fire. 


	2. The House

I didn't know a lot about the squad I was with. I knew Sgt. Morgan, who was my squad leader when I enlisted and remained throughout the war. We had hit the beaches together at Normandy and had helped Captain John Miller search for Private Ryan when we were fighting with paratroopers in that no-name French Ville.  
  
Although I had fought with him for over a year, I had no idea where Sgt. Morgan was from, if he had family, a wife or anything. He always said that such things had no place in warfare.  
  
Pvt. Trout, the man that we had lost, was a bit more open about himself. He was one of three children of his parents that lived in Wisconsin. He always talked about his summer forages through the bush to shoot gophers and such, it made sense, he was the best marksman in our squad, after me of course.  
  
Pvt. Horn was our unit's medic. He was in his second year of med school when he was drafted. He came into our unit with quite a fight, being insubordinate and disillusioned about the war. He absolutely refused to carry any sort of weapon or to fight at all, a German could be bayoneting the President of the United States and he wouldn't lift a finger to stop it.  
  
Although Horn wasn't that great of a soldier, he was an excellent medic, and beyond that, he was useful for carrying extra ammo for us.  
  
Cpl. Stankowitz was, needless to say, an idiot. He was from a Polish family who immigrated to the US before the war, and then he was drafted into the Air Force, then promptly kicked out for insubordination and 'accidentally' crashing a fighter during training. They had sent him into the army to try and straighten him out. Needless to say, it hadn't worked. He rarely spoke of his home or family, I figured that his parents probably forced him to go when he was drafted. I still don't know how he made it to Corporal. Somewhere along the line, he had picked up experience on the BAR, which made him the assistant gunner.  
  
Pvt. Miller had been in our group almost as long as I had. We had been through most everything together. He was probably one of the best BAR gunners in the European Theater. He sometimes talked about his family, but tried to distance himself from it. The draft had ruined his marriage, he had told us once. Even though he had suffered because of the draft, he was still the one that kept the squad's morale up when it was on a down slope.  
  
Pvt. Ben Doon was slightly slow. He had a knack for pointing out the obvious. He was new, we had gotten him just after D-Day, as far as I knew, he had never seen combat, and he was a translator, interpreting German low- grade intel. So far I hadn't seen him say more that two words to anyone.  
  
Sgt. Morgan held up his Thompson and we moved through the main entrance to the barn. It was musty inside, smelling of hay and moisture being put together too long. Light filtered in through a window, giving the barn a dim light with which to see by. Several crates were stacked in the center of the room; along the walls were pegs with animal paraphernalia hanging for them, bridles and brushes and such, but no Germans.  
  
"This is getting to weird." Said Sgt. Morgan. "Its an abandoned house in the middle of the French countryside. You'd think the Germans would be all over it, even just for reconnaissance, but there's nothing."  
  
I slung my Garand over my shoulder. "I would assume that one of the patrols we intercepted would be residing at this place, but there are no signs of anyone being here before us. Maybe they packed up and moved when Allied patrols started coming through this sector."  
  
While I said this, I pulled out my bayonet and was using the blade to pry the one of the crates open. The nails slid out revealing rows of wine bottles.  
  
I picked one out and looked at the label. Chateau LaBar 1936. I held the bottle up and showed it to Sergeant Morgan, who nodded.  
  
We walked back to the house. Inside, Ben Doon had started a fire and was heating a pot of water. "Hey Sarge, look what I found." He said, holding up a can of coffee.  
  
"That's great soldier, why don't we invite the Germans in for a cup while were at it. Don't worry about calling them, I'm sure that they'll know were here, what with smoke pouring out the chimney. For those of you that just woke up, this operation was meant to be somewhat secret, and in case you haven't noticed, we are seven men, if word got out about us being here, you would probably bring the whole goddamn whermacht down on us. Nice job, now put out that damn fire.  
  
Ben Doon opened the pot and poured the contents over the fire, putting it out with a strong hissing noise and plumes of steam.  
  
He took the kettle off the fireplace and wandered off to make coffee with cold water or something. Sgt. Morgan shook his head.  
  
The best thing was, there were potatoes in the cellar. Cold, uncooked potatoes were always the best, that what I say, anyway. After supper, we allowed ourselves to take a few draughts off of the wine we had found in the cellar, just enough to take the edge off.  
  
Night had begun to fall and the sun dipped low in the sky. I was sitting inside over several burning candles. The air had acquired a bit of a nip, so I tried to pull my field jacket closed even more. I was using the candles to heat some water for coffee and a little stew that we could scrounge together,  
  
We had returned to the forest and recovered Pvt. Trout's body, buried it and marked it for grave detail. The shrapnel wound in my arm had stopped bleeding and the sharp pain had faded to a dull ache.  
  
We had buried Trout's body in the soft dirt of the garden, after stripping it of anything useful. We handed his ammo out evenly and then left two men, Hartmann and Miller in a pillbox that we had recently dug. The rest of us went inside. That was when we heard the shots. I heard three rounds from a Garand and then a lengthy burst from the BAR.  
  
I was on my feet in a second and rushing for the door. By this time we could only see by the moon, but it was more than enough to see the Germans moving along the treeline. I ran out and took cover behind some barrels that we had rolled out to catch any rainfall. I took aim across the barrels and squeezed off several rounds at a German. Sporadic fire was returned at me, but nothing serious.  
  
As I reloaded, Sgt. Morgan ran out with his Thompson blazing. He fanned automatic fire at the Germans, taking out several. He went down on one knee to reload while I covered him with my last clip.  
  
I fired carefully, trying to conserve my last eight rounds, but they were quickly spent. I unloaded my last round into a German that charged at me, a bayonet on his Kar 98.  
  
The action opened and the bloc clip popped out. I cursed and ran my hands over my pouches to make sure I hadn't missed any clips. Finally, I pulled out my Colt M1911, but I only had two clips for it, fourteen rounds. That's all that stood between the Germans and me.  
  
The Krauts were becoming braver. They would charge us, and then see if we would be able to lay down enough fire to cover them. I would fire at them when they got close, but I was soon on my last clip.  
  
One Nazi ran at me and I fired a single round into him, hitting him in the arm. It made it so he couldn't shoot me back with his MP40, but he still ran into me with full force, knocking me over and sending my helmet flying.  
  
He was on top of me, laying into my sides with his fists, but I had the upper hand on him, I still had my .45 between him and me.  
  
Being ever so gentle, I pummeled his face with my left hand, while I angled the barrel up against his stomach, then fired. Immediately the assault on my body stopped and the man tried to roll off me and to his machine pistol lying beside us. I grabbed his tunic and sent the rest of my clip into his stomach, sending blood onto me and the ground around us.  
  
As the adrenaline wore off, I looked over and picked up the Kraut MP40 and holstered my Colt. I didn't like the Shmiesser, but it was the only weapon I had.  
  
I snapped the bolt back and then sent a hail of 9mm parabelleum rounds into a running German. I kept firing, empting the clip at the Germans who were now retreating back towards the trees.  
  
I ran out and fired some more. Hartmann and Miller were holding their own in the pillbox. Sgt. Morgan was lighting up some Germans with his Thompson. Then I heard something that chilled me to the bone, the burst of an MG42.  
  
I dived for cover at bullets zipped by me, then searched for the source of the machine gun fire. I squinted my eyes and searched for the muzzle flare of the weapon. Then I saw it, firing from the treeline.  
  
Then I saw Sgt. Morgan; he had been pinned down by the machine gun. He was ducking down in a slight depression as bullets threw dirt up around him. As I watched, he stood up and loosed a whole clip at the machine gun. I backed him up with the thirty-two round clip from my MP40.  
  
The gun stopped firing for a moment and Sgt. Morgan used the break in time to rush back to the house for better cover. I reloaded the Shmiesser, jamming a clip in and yanking the bolt back.  
  
"How we gonna get that gun?!" I yelled out to Sgt. Morgan.  
  
"I don't know! Maybe a flanking maneuver or maybe from behind!" He called back.  
  
Then Hartmann went totally crazy. He ran down from the pillbox, firing his M-1 as he yelled profanities in the German's direction.  
  
I could see in slow motion as the bullets began to track him. Both Sergeant Morgan and myself opened up on the machine gun nest with whole clips to allow him to get closer, but it was futile, after a brief break in firing, Hartmann was blown onto his back as he took a burst right to his chest.  
  
Steam exploded from his back as he took multiple hits, blood became a fine mist in the air around him. He went down and didn't move. The Germans sent one more long burst into his body, mutilating it with more holes. Sgt. Morgan's head sunk and he looked away.  
  
I took aim at the shadowy helmeted figures that were illuminated by the almost constant muzzle flash from the machine gun. I started squeezing off bursts at them. One man went down, then another. The machine gun fire tracked towards me, so I dropped back under cover as the rounds zipped by me.  
  
Then someone dropped down beside me. Franticly I tried to bring my MP40 around to shoot the German, but stopped when I saw that it was Stankowitz. "It's me Stone." He said as he reloaded his Garand.  
  
Morgan barely noticed and instead turned to me. "Any ideas?" He asked.  
  
I shook my head. "It's too dark to shoot and it's too far for grenades." I commented.  
  
"Oh, not for me, Blake, I played football at home, watch this." He yanked his last grenade off his belt and pulled the pin on it.  
  
He jumped up to throw it, but accidentally dropped it back in between him and me.  
  
"You idiot!" I screamed, I frantically grabbed it and tossed it into the field. The small bomb detonated and I felt a fragment ricochet off my helmet.  
  
Stankowitz smiled, "Sorry, that was an accident. I'll try again."  
  
He reached over and before I could protest, used his claw-like hands to snatch one of my grenades from my belt, pull the pin and throw it would as hard as he could. It fell about twenty yards short of the machine gun, then exploded, doing nothing to the Germans.  
  
The sound of the grenade exploding faded into silence, then I heard a sound, a sound that was laughter. The Germans were actually laughing at Stankowitz.  
  
Stankowitz's face got all red and then he yelled, "Take this you Tommy Bastards!" Then fired until his Garand was empty. I looked at Sergeant Morgan; who was valiantly trying not to laugh.  
  
The Germans returned a volley of their own, hitting nothing. I hated stalemates, then I heard the distinctive sound of an M-1 Carbine being fired, then a grenade blast. Then silence.  
  
We stayed low and listened, then a distant voice sounded off, "First Infantry, were coming out!" 


	3. The Mission

I poked my head out and watched as ten men walked out of the treeline. Sgt. Morgan stood up and walked out to meet them. I walked over to my Garand and picked it up.  
  
Even though it was empty and I had no ammo for it, I couldn't bear the idea of leaving it behind for a kraut weapon. I looked over to Sgt. Morgan. He was kneeling down next to Hartmann's body, with his hand on his chest. Standing over them was a tall, slim man, carrying the Carbine that I had heard.  
  
Sgt. Morgan grabbed Hartmann's M-1, hooked the bayonet on and drove it into the ground, just above his head, then gently placed Hartmann's helmet on the buttstock. He then turned to Stankowitz and Miller to start digging a grave. Stankowitz looked like he was about to protest the extra work, but a sharp look from Sgt. Morgan made him stop before he started.  
  
They went off to dig a grave. After a moment, I set down my guns and pulled my shovel off my pack and went to help. The spades cut into the earth and soon all of our squad and a few men from the other squad had come to help. Quickly, a large hole was etched into the ground and we stripped Hartmann of his webbing and any other personal effects that Sgt. Morgan would ensure be sent home, including one of his dogtags.  
  
I opened up his ammo pouches to check for any extra ammunition. He had two unused clips. I took them and put them into my own pouches. We placed Hartmann's body into the hole and covered it over.  
  
I sat down in the shade of a tree and took one of the cigarettes out of my pouches. I lit up the smoke and puffed on it for a few minutes, which was unusual for me, as I don't especially like cigarettes. I finished the thing off and threw the butt into the bush, then took a draught off my canteen.  
  
I looked over at Sgt. Morgan, he and the slim man were talking, bathed in the moonlight. His words were a barley audible buzz. He nodded and finished the conversation, then he looked at me. I took this as my cue to come into the conversation.  
  
I stood up and walked to Sgt. Morgan. "Corporal Stone, this is Lieutenant Schaefer." I nodded in his direction. "He is bringing us information for our next mission. He also had ammo for us. I want you to distribute the ammo evenly among everyone."  
  
I nodded.  
  
Schaefer turned and shouted a command at his troops. As it turned out, they had carried plenty of extra ammo for us. We each had a bandoleer of ammo, and then some, as we had lost two people, we had two extra bandoleers. I took an extra one and Horn would carry the second with him and hand it out as necessary.  
  
I dropped the stripper clips into the pouches around my waist, using up one bandolier, then slinging the other around my body. It felt good to be loaded down with ammo again. I took pleasure in throwing away the offensive MP40 and all the things that were associated with it.  
  
I held my Garand lightly, placed the clip into the action and snapped the bolt shut. It felt good to be holding my American-made weapon again.  
  
The sky was beginning to lighten as the sun prepared to come up. Sergeant Morgan must have finished his discussion; he stood up and called for the squad to form up on him. We walked over to him, me on his closest right.  
  
He held out his map and a compass. "All right, listen up. What were going to do is head north to this point here." He said, tapping a point on the paper.  
  
"It looks like the third SS has been pushing reconnaissance and strike teams down along our axis of advance. They seem to be able to get in, come around behind our advancing troops, blow something up and then get out without much trouble. It doesn't seem to be doing anything serious, except make for slowing us down. Even so, it's a morale crusher for our troops. The plan is for us to follow our main advancing front by about two kilometers, then, we can ambush and attack as they move in to strike against us. We'll be heading north, with three other squads, so don't get to trigger happy, the Germans could have us shooting each other out there. We'll be moving out tomorrow, so we have one day at this house. Lieutenant Schaefer will be moving out with us. We'll be going in the dark to try to avoid or get the jump on any German patrols running through the area. Now settle down, get some sleep and be ready."  
  
We fanned out and got to do whatever we wanted for a moment. I took off my web gear and left it in a heap, but reflex would not allow me to simply walk around unarmed. I slung my Garand over my shoulder and put a couple of stripper clips in my pockets.  
  
Apparently Sgt. Morgan had decided to allow a fire, as there was a small one outside. Ben Doon was placing a pot over the fire and dropping in potatoes that he had cut up with his bayonet.  
  
I picked up the water bucket and decided to go to the nearby stream to fetch some water.  
  
I tromped down the stream, whistling a tune I had heard somewhere along the line. I stepped to the bank of the fast moving stream we had been using for a water source for now. I dipped the metal pail in and allowed water to flow into it, then pulled it out and set it down.  
  
Then I heard something. It came from over the bank of the stream, as it flowed along a dike-like raised portion of the land. I quietly put the bucket down on the ground, and then walked through the stream. I grimaced as the cold water ran into my boots, and then unslung my Garand off my shoulder and got down on my hands and knees to poke my head over the dike.  
  
Three German soldiers stood in the farmer's field, walking steadily towards the south, about one hundred yards away from me.  
  
It was against my better judgments, but I did it anyway. I rested the forestock of the rifle on the hill of the dike and adjusted the sight a couple of clicks, then aimed. I fired on the man in front first, the bullet going through his squarish helmet with a metallic thump. The man went down, disappearing into the stubble of crops in the field.  
  
The rear man dropped as well, for protection, but the middle man panicked and turned his back to run. I paused a moment to take aim, then sent three rounds into the cowardly German's back. I swept the gun back and sent round after round into the area where the last German had dropped to hide. I fired until the stripper clip popped up. I reached into the pocket of my field jacket for a replacement.  
  
I held off for a moment as I heard heavy footsteps crashing through the bush from behind me. I whipped my M-1 around as Stankowitz crashed through the trees and flopped down next to me. "Where are they? Where are they?" He asked excitedly.  
  
I pointed out into the field approximately where I thought the third man would be.  
  
"Okay," said Stankowitz. "I'm going to go out there and look for him, you cover me."  
  
I nodded and hunkered down over my M-1 as he moved out. I knew what Stankowitz was trying to do. He would head out and then kill the third German. Then he would claim that he had come in and saved the day. I wasn't about to let that happen.  
  
I was surprised that the guy hadn't been shot already. He was carrying all of his gear, which we all normally did, but his small, spindly frame hampered his movement with all of the weight on him. Plus, he was terrible for putting all of his gear on loosely, allowing it to flop around, making a huge amount of noise, all this totally gave him away during times of attempted stealth.  
  
He waded out into the grass and jogged the way out into the farmer's field. He found the two dead Germans, but couldn't find the third. It didn't surprise me, with the long grass, the German could have easily slunk away, but what he did find was several bullet holes in the ground and a lot of blood.  
  
Stankowitz went back to searching and I continued to keep the whole field in my line of sight. Then, like some sort of a predator, I saw the German's head come out of the grass and then move forward.  
  
I saw the German's mistake. He thought that Stankowitz was the sniper that fired the first rounds was him, and didn't know that there was another rifleman in the trees.  
  
The German was now rushing at Stankowitz's back with his bayonet gleaming on the end of the barrel. The German obviously meant to cause Stankowitz as much pain as possible for the death of his comrades. Now, as I looked, I could see that his wool uniform was becoming red with blood from the holes my bullets had put in his stomach.  
  
I wasted no more time. I aimed and fired, but could only hit the man once before risking hitting Stankowitz. The soldier stumbled forward as my round hit him, but he still managed to stab the bayonet into him.  
  
Stankowitz screamed and tried the reach around himself to pull the blade out, but it had hit him high in the back and his loosely stuffed pack was to big for him to get his arms around and yank out the knife.  
  
I jumped to my feet and ran to him. When I got to him, I slid the bayonet out of his back and realized that it had barley gone into him an inch.  
  
I forced him onto the ground and then used the German knife to cut a bigger hole in Stankowitz's clothing, then reached into the scrawny man's first aid pouch. I took out some sulfa and a field dressing.  
  
The wound didn't look that bad. It only oozed a little bit of blood. I sprinkled the sulfa on and slapped the field dressing on it, then used some medical tape to hold it down.  
  
Sergeant Morgan and most of the other people in my squad came, probably from hearing the gunshots. Horn, our medic, ran out into the field and looked at the dressing. We agreed that it would probably do more harm than good to remove it, so we left it as it was.  
  
We walked back to the house, which was now becoming somewhat active, having sixteen soldiers now habititing it. Ben Doon was dancing around one giant pot, brandishing a spoon, in a few minutes, he was handing out bowl and cups of steaming hot broth. He filled mess kits and anything that could hold the soup.  
  
I sat down under a tree and began to spoon the hot broth into my mouth and swallowing it. That was the advantage of having a cook in our squad; it made life a lot easier. He could take some cold K-rations and turn them into a hot, hearty meal for the entire squad.  
  
I quickly finished my soup and washed my mess kit with a bit of water, then replaced it in my webbing.  
  
That afternoon, we prepared to move out. We cleaned our weapons and prepared to move out. We filled our canteens and split our rations between the two squads, then, when it was black and only the moon provided enough light to walk by, we headed out.  
  
The plan was to walk all night and most of the day, then met up in some place called Ytterville. We would arrive there just as the main battle regiment moved through. We would aid them to clear the town, then linger about seven kilometers behind them initially to ward off any attacks from the rear.  
  
We walked through the forest most of the night with one of Schaefer's men walking point. We were coming to a river when the man held up his hand in a fist. We all dropped out of sight, then the man came running back to Sergeant Morgan, he whispered a few words I couldn't catch, then ducked down.  
  
Sgt. Morgan ran in a crouch and then dropped down. He aimed his Thompson at a bush and held his fire for a moment. He then let several rounds fly into the bush. A well –camouflaged German soldier wearing oak leaf camo dropped out. The K-43 that he was carrying clattered to the ground.  
  
Fire exploded all around us. Had we been standing up we would all have been killed. I saw one German sitting in a tree with his Kar-98. I popped off a round through his head and he dropped to the ground.  
  
One German darted out for cover; I fired three times, spinning him around. I fired periodically, then the Germans started throwing grenades. Explosions shattered the air as I fought. I darted for cover behind several logs and dropped into a crouching position. One grenade came over the logs and hit me in the chest. I grabbed the Stiekhandgrenete and hurled it back at the Germans moments before it exploded.  
  
I popped up and fired off two rounds, spearing through a running German. He tumbled down and rolled a few feet in the dirt. The Germans were mounting their resistance. A half-track rolled in and a crew had set up a mortar. Shells began to explode all around us, but we were holding our own.  
  
The half-track tried to cut through our squad and get out of the engagement. Rifle fire did nothing against it, then Ben Doon ran up alongside the vehicle, pulled a grenade and stuck it in between the treads, then darted off, avoiding machinegun fire.  
  
The grenade went off with an earsplitting bang and we could hear the clanking noise as the treads fell off.  
  
We immediately backed away from the vehicle. Sgt. Morgan split up the squad, one part to take whoever was manning the mortar, the other to take out the half-track.  
  
I was left with Sgt. Morgan and Miller on BAR, along with two riflemen from Schaefer's squad. We surrounded the half-track and moved in on it. The hatch on top opened up and a man came out of the port, fumbling to maneuver his MP40 around in the tight space. I fired three rounds, my bullets and several others cut right through him. He fell forward onto the armored top of the large truck.  
  
I ran to the vehicle and threw myself on top of it. I pulled myself along the top until I reached the hatch. The man's body was still halfway out of it. I yanked the pin out of a fragmentation grenade and dropped it down the hatch. I heard several German curses before I threw myself down from the tank. After a few moments, the explosive went off, throwing smoke and the a light red mist out of the port, as well as clearing the body that was hanging out of it.  
  
"Don't slow down, were still in this fight!" Yelled Sgt. Morgan, unloading his clip at four running Germans.  
  
The shells had stopped falling, but grenades were still dangerous explosives. One soldier came running out from behind the decimated half- track carrying a meter-long, tube-shaped object that I recognized immediately. "Panzer Shrek!" I yelled out and brought my Garand to my eye.  
  
I fired one round and my clip popped out. I cursed and dropped to the ground to reload. I jammed the clip into the action and slid the bolt forward, priming the gun for action.  
  
I jumped to my feet and looked around for the man with the Panzer Shrek. I saw him about fifteen yards away, rolling around on the ground. My bullet had taken him in the right side of his chest, judging from the bright frothy blood, it had missed his heart and hit him in his lung. The man was hurt bad, he wheezed air into his chest every time he breathed and he coughed up a lot of blood. I raised my Garand and shot him in the head, destroying a large portion of it.  
  
I darted back into the fight. The Germans were retreating now; we had them on the run. I climbed onto the still-burning remains of the half- track and lay down in the prone position and lined up the sights on the running Germans. I started to pick off all the runners I could see in the night.  
  
The Germans retreated to a point where we could no longer see or catch them. We quickly regrouped to check our losses.  
  
Amazingly, no one from our squad had been killed; the same could not be said for Schaefer's squad. They had sustained three casualties; some of his best men had died.  
  
We couldn't dwell on it; we were depending on mobility to get us to the main force. We recovered their ammunition and moved on, not even having time to dig graves, only mark the bodies with their rifles.  
  
We moved on, trying to be as quiet as possible. Again, one of Schaefer's men had volunteered to walk point. My respect for him and his squad was mounting.  
  
We had been walking for about five kilometers; I was tired from walking over the rough terrain. The sun was just peeking over the hills in the distance. We were walking through a clearing with the same man from Schaefer's squad on point. The shot rang out clear in the air. A puff of steam came out of his chest as the bullet went through.  
  
The man tumbled down and we all dropped for cover. Horn slid forward on his stomach to the man that had been hit. I looked over at where the sound of the shot had come from, but I could see nothing.  
  
Another shot came from the treeline a distance away. The round spanged as it hit the ground, but this time, I saw the muzzle flash from the sniper's rifle. I took aim with my Garand and started to fire. The rest of the soldier around me joined in and all fired a few rounds. The fire trailed off and we held it for a moment, reloading. No more shots came, slowly we stood up. We were already behind on our schedule, so we just marched on. 


	4. Promotions

We walked several more kilometers and ended up in a small village that the main battle group had just passed through. Jeeps and half-tracks full of troops were still moving through it.  
  
We walked over to find the command tent and discovered that it had been erected in the enormous crater from a 205mm railway gun.  
  
Sgt. Morgan went ahead into the tent while the rest of our squad stayed outside, enjoying the chance to sit down.  
  
About a half an hour later, Sgt. Morgan emerged. He walked over to where we, then signaled me to come with him.  
  
We were walking towards another tent. "So, what's the deal?" I asked.  
  
"Well, it looks like were going to be resupplied and get some more people in. Things will probably about the same as Schaefer said, we'll just be following the main group through the population centers, but with a twist."  
  
"What's that?" I asked.  
  
"Along with the new people were getting in, we'll also be getting a radioman, and were supposed to respond to any and all distress calls and SOS's that are within our range. Reason seems to be that the Army brass don't seem to think that our squad covering this battalion is a useful idea, so not only will we be protecting our rears, we'll also be a rescue squad, setting up standard ambushes and patrols. So be prepared to move quick and fast. We'll be resupplied with a few new riflemen and another BAR, plus a bazooka will be allocated to our squad.  
  
"That's good. When do we get them?" I asked, idly cleaning the sight on my rifle with my thumbnail.  
  
"You can go and get them now. All the troop trucks are at the north end of town, you can take a jeep to pick them up."  
  
A jeep! For the first time in a very long time, I would be able to ride instead of walking everywhere I went.  
  
I picked up my web gear and slipped it on, then picked up my M-1. I then walked outside the command tent. There were three jeeps there, one with a set of keys in it.  
  
I set my rifle on the seat next to me and fired the engine up. I started the jeep moving, getting used to driving again.  
  
It was only a short drive across town. I ended up in one of the minor dropping off points for troops awaiting reassignments to different units. It was much less of a frenzied pace that some of the others I had been at.  
  
I pulled the jeep up next to some others that were parked and then stood in front of it and called off some names that I had on my list.  
  
"Han, Vogul, Ensign, Plouffee, Oinker, Alemann." I called the names twice as the soldiers gathered around. I did a quick head count and found that they were all there.  
  
It took some doing, but we managed to fit everyone on the jeep. As I pulled back into traffic on my way across the city, I sorted my thoughts on our new soldiers.  
  
There was Private Han, our second BAR gunner. He was fresh out of basic and hadn't even seen combat yet, but from what I heard, his urges to fight and win were as fiery red as his hair.  
  
Vogul carried the radio for our squad. He was young and I thought the glasses he wore made him look like Dilbert. The M-1 Carbine he carried balanced it out though.  
  
Ensign was our bazooka man. He had been allocated to our squad, because no one, including me, had any experience with the heavy weapon, although Stankowitz had claimed rather loudly that he did, we simply weren't ready to trust him with something that could kill the entire squad in one shot. Frankly, he was lucky we trusted him with a rifle.  
  
I wasn't sure what to make of Plouffee. He seemed generally able, but somewhat slack, one of the new breed of soldiers. The name sounded French, but I'm never good with names. He just sat there most of the way, holding onto his rifle and chewing on a wad of gum that I would learn that he was never without.  
  
Oinker reminded me of a pig, not just because of his name, but also in appearance and his dislike for showers. It was a war and there wasn't a lot of time for bathing in the bush, but we were all happy when we had the chance to shower of bathe again. Not Oinker, he made it a point of honour to avoid every cleansing of the body that was available. Everything about the man was dirty, his weapon, his uniform, his sense of humor. I felt a strong sense of disgust when I saw him.  
  
Alemann struck me as one of the weirdest soldiers I would ever know. He kept his rifle as clean as a whistle and soldiered like the best of them, but aside from that, he never showed any enthusiasm whatsoever. He could easily have made Corporal, but he was never willing to learn or put in the effort. I guess leadership was one of those talents that chose people, and not the other way around.  
  
I slowed down as I came back to where our squad was sitting, an abandoned French Café. I pulled over and we all got out.  
  
Sergeant Morgan came over to the new squad members and introduced himself and the rest of the squad. While he did that, I picked up one of the chairs and set it back onto its legs, then dropped onto it.  
  
Ben Doon sat across the table from me. "Do you think they'll make it?" He asked.  
  
I shook my head. "I think a couple have seen combat, but the others…"  
  
Ben Doon nodded. I looked around at the rest of my squad to see how they were holding up. Stankowitz sat alone at his table with a really mad and arrogant look on his face. The bayonet wound on his back was still healing. The pain made him angry and difficult to deal with. I also had thought that the wound had become infected and caused him to develop an overpowering case of assholia. Oh well, I didn't particularly care.  
  
Horn sat at his table, alone as well, sporting a sneer on his face, the new recruits would not enjoy meeting either of them.  
  
Sergeant Morgan finished introducing himself and the squad and then let the new soldiers interact with the remainder of our squad.  
  
Sergeant Morgan pulled me to the side. "Stone, I have a few things for you here." He passed me a small bundle of cloth.  
  
I unwrapped the bundle and discovered a set of Sergeant stripes and a requisition form for an M-1 Carbine.  
  
Elation ran through my body as I looked up at Sgt. Morgan. "No Sergeant, you don't have the same rank as me."  
  
He pulled down the collar of his M41 field jacket and showed me the 'Butter Bars' of a Second Lieutenant.  
  
"Lieutenant Weems was shot and killed by German sniper yesterday. Mine came in while you were gone, and each squad needs a Sergeant. You can take that weapon form over to the Supply Sergeant over there." He said, motioning to a former clothing store across the street.  
  
I took the paper out of the bundle and turned to walk over to the store. "Don't forget your gear, Sergeant!" Lt. Morgan said, throwing me my gear.  
  
I slipped into it and slung my rifle over my arm. A few jeeps full of troops and one or two Sherman tanks passed behind me as I stepped into the Supply  
  
There were a few troops organizing the storage space in the store. I walked up to the counter and set the paper down. The private behind the desk looked at it, then leaned back in his chair and yelled into the back of the shop. "Sergeant, can you come here for a second?"  
  
I waited a second and a grizzled, old Sergeant came out of the back, wiping grease of some sort from his hands.  
  
"What can I do for you, son?" He asked me.  
  
"Well, my Lieutenant gave me this paper and told me to come to you." I explained.  
  
"Well, lets see what we can do." He picked up the paper and looked it over. "Yes, I belief I can get you something like that. Hang on for one second, I haven't unpacked them yet."  
  
He took the paper into the back and rummaged around for about three minutes. I heard grunting and cursing and finally the squeal of nails being pulled free of wood. He came back with an M-1 Carbine in one hand and a crowbar in the other. He set the M-1 down on the desk in front of me, then reached under the counter and set down several magazines of ammunition next to the weapon.  
  
The sleek short design of the rifle immediately caught my eye. On the stock of the weapon was a wraparound pouch that would hold two magazines. It wasn't a Thompson, but it was nice.  
  
I set my Garand on the desk and took the stripper clip pouch belt off my harness and set it on the counter. The Sergeant handed me a new pistol belt with several carbine clip pouches on it.  
  
I reattached the pistol belt to my harness and slid it on. I signed out the new rifle and picked it up off the table. I stuffed all the magazines into the respective pouches and loaded the last one into my new rifle.  
  
I thanked the Sergeant and left the supply. The small weight of the carbine was a welcome change to the standard heavy weight of the Garand.  
  
I walked back to the squad, carbine over my shoulder. I sat down at a table and took out my sewing kit and began sewing on the Sergeant's stripes to the arms of my field jacket. I was quickly done.  
  
I held up the jacket to make sure the stripes were on right. At I brought it back to my lap, I saw Stankowitz staring at me with a mix of rage and jealously. I simply looked back at him with a smug look on my face.  
  
I then checked the carbine, the gun was clean, the bore clear of any dirt or debris common for being picked up in the field. The bolt was slightly gritty, so I gave it a liberal application of gun oil to loosen it up. I pulled the clip out and examined it. Fifteen rounds. I pulled out one of the .30 caliber rounds and studied it. It was short, only slightly longer than an inch and a half. I pushed it back in the clip and replaced it in my rifle.  
  
"Sergeant Stone!"  
  
"Yes sir?" I replied, walking over to Lt. Morgan.  
  
"Got your first duties for you as a Sergeant." He said. "Take this over to Miller, got a battlefield readiness briefing. We will be moving out temporarily."  
  
I took what Morgan was handing me and looked at it. It was a pair of Corporals stripes. I smiled and closed my hand around them.  
  
I walked over where Miller was and sat down at the table with him. "Hey Joe, how're you doing?" I asked.  
  
"Just fine Sarge, Congrats on the promotion." He said.  
  
"Thanks." I smiled, "So, is Stankowitz giving you any trouble?" I asked in a slightly more serious tone.  
  
Miller face turned to a frown. "Well Sarge, he is the most difficult person I have ever had to work with. He's a higher rank then me, but he's supposed to be my assistant. Most of the time it ends up being the other way around. What gets me is that he takes the BAR and then screws up, leaving the squad in a pinch, when I could have done whatever he was trying just fine."  
  
I nodded my head. It was perfectly understandable, the fact was, Stankowitz would probably force his rank onto everybody now that promotions were being handed out and he wouldn't be getting anything.  
  
"Well, here's a chance for you to show what you really can do." I said and set the corporal stripes down on the table.  
  
His eyes grew a little wider as he saw them. He slowly picked them up with his thumb and forefinger and pulled the badges towards him as if he didn't really think that they were his.  
  
I smiled and stood up from the table. "Enjoy, but get ready to move out quickly." I said as I backed away.  
  
"Thank you, Sergeant." He mumbled as he stared at his new badges.  
  
As I walked away, I looked over at Stankowitz who was staring at me with a mix of jealousy and expectancy now, oh well, screw him.  
  
Lt. Morgan would be back any minute. I told all the soldiers to get ready to move out.  
  
As I threw on my gear and made sure my rifle was ready, Stankowitz sauntered over to me and stood there. "Listen Sergeant, I know that I'm not going to be promoted, but can you tell me that you'll consider me next time?"  
  
I tried to hold in my laughter. "I'll see what I can do, but you will want to talk to the Lieutenant about that since it's not my decision."  
  
"Thanks Sergeant, I'll do that." He sauntered off again.  
  
I finished checking my gear as Morgan walked out of one of the tents. He waved me over and I stepped over to where he was.  
  
"We'll be moving immediately. Our guys are encountering some resistance on the north end of the city. We're just going in and spotting for a larger force. Get everyone together and we'll head out." He trailed off as Stankowitz approached us.  
  
"Sir," he whined, "I was just wondering what are my chances of becoming a Sergeant?"  
  
Morgan looked him right in the eye. "Actually, something did cross my desk for you, so to speak. Its not a promotion, but it does have to do with your rank."  
  
"Oh, yeah. What is it, sir?" Asked Stankowitz, slightly more exited than before.  
  
"Well, I would like to christen you, Private Stankowitz. If you could just remove your corporal stripes, I'll get some private ones for you."  
  
"What?!"  
  
"Its quite simple. Your attitude, combined with you incompetence has caught the eye of command. They talked to me and I'm talking to you. Congratulations, Private."  
  
Stankowitz wandered away in a daze. I looked over at Morgan. "A little hard on him, don't you think?"  
  
Morgan shrugged his shoulders, "He was a little hard on the squad, don't you think?"  
  
I shrugged and yelled at the troops to saddle up.  
  
We moved out into the city. Fighting had obviously taken place. Shell craters were everywhere. Fires burned on the roads, consuming building materials and whatever other junk was lying around them.  
  
Lieutenant Morgan navigated from a map that he held in his pocket. The plan was for us to move out of the city, a half a mile out into the country, then move back in behind the Germans.  
  
I looked back at my squad. Stankowitz had hooked up with Oinker as a friend. Most of the new soldiers walked in silence. I didn't think that any of them had been together in a previous squad. I couldn't blame them, the moment they got here, they learned that only Morgan, myself and Miller would be friendly to them, and rank opened a gap between us and the new soldiers.  
  
Ensign and Miller, both being Corporals, had become somewhat friendly. They walked together covering each other's backs.  
  
We moved out of the city without seeing any Germans. We were halfway out into the country on our patrol before we were ambushed.  
  
The grass we were walking through was about waist high. Three Germans popped up out of the grass and started firing. We all dropped and brought our weapons to bear. The three Germans were armed with Kar-98s, if they had MP40s, it would have been more likely we would all be dead in the first volley.  
  
I fired blindly through the grass and heard a cry of pain that told me I had hit one of them. Miller and myself jumped up and flanked them while Morgan laid down some covering fire.  
  
The Germans must have decided that they had bitten off more than they could chew because two of them broke and ran, firing behind them. I quickly aimed and fired three rounds rapidly. One man was cut down. Miller's BAR roared and the other man was sliced down.  
  
We dropped down for cover, not knowing what had happened to the third soldier.  
  
Morgan advanced to the area where we had thought the German would be. We found blood, but no body. We fanned out and searched the areas, he couldn't have gotten far. We found him about twenty yards away from where we thought he would be.  
  
My carbine rounds had hit him in the center of the throat. The man had bled to death before we could find him.  
  
We saddled up and moved out. We came to the outskirts of the city without engaging another German patrol. We held out there for a few minutes and the pushed forward into the city center.  
  
We moved silently and cautiously, on the lookout for snipers and trying to avoid any place that we thought might be mined.  
  
As I stepped down the street, I became aware of a distant rumbling. We all took cover behind the piles of rubble lining the streets. Then, about a hundred yards in front of us, a Tiger tank turned down the road. Its mighty chassis turned towards us and it started moving forwards.  
  
We were well camouflaged. The krauts never saw us. As the tank drew closer, I raised my carbine at the tank commander who was standing out of the turret. He was in full battle dress uniform too, a shame to get blood on it, but a necessary one, nonetheless.  
  
I fired twice. The commander took the rounds in the chest and dropped back into the tank. The vehicle came to an abrupt stop, the turret swiveling to take a shot at us.  
  
We all broke and ran as the gun came around. The gun fired, with a giant explosion, a huge section of the wall next to be disappeared. I felt the compression slam into me, along with dozens of pieces of shrapnel.  
  
I was lifted into the air and slammed back down onto the cobblestone street. My ears rang, I was dimly aware of several pinpoints of pain along my back.  
  
Ben Doon ran to me and lifted me up by my webbing. We ran to the side of the tank, trying to avoid another shelling from its gun.  
  
I ripped a grenade from my webbing and threw it on top of the tank, not really trying to hurt the tank as much as faze the crew inside.  
  
The grenade exploded and the tank stopped. I had a hair-raising moment where I thought the grenade had actually disabled the Tiger.  
  
The hatch on top opened up and a German soldier stood up, holding an STG-44, burning down his magazine at us. Both Han and Miller let loose bursts of fire, putting the German back inside the tank, this time leaking.  
  
We all backed off and Ensign fired his bazooka into the Tiger. The rocket smashed into the tank and burrowed itself in the armor, but couldn't penetrate. "Load!" yelled Ensign.  
  
Stankowitz moved forward, withdrawing another rocket from his gear. I held my breath as he loaded the rocket into the tube. Amazingly he managed to get it in right and ready it to fire without endangering the squad.  
  
Ensign took aim and fired a second time. The rocket came out of the tube and lodged itself in the track that allowed the turret to spin. We displaced and loaded the tube for another go.  
  
As we watched, the tank sat there, then we heard the straining of the motors as the tank tried to move its turret around to target us. Finally the crew tired to move the entire tank to shoot at us, but the clumsy weapon gave us ample time to move out of the way before it fired.  
  
Finally, the tank driver must have given up. The tank turned and drove away, not caring about the soldiers behind it.  
  
I became aware of a slight buzzing sound; we all turned and watched as a Hawker Hurricane dropped from the clouds. Its .303 guns fired and kicked up dust around the tank and its treads. Rounds pinged off its armored hide.  
  
As the aircraft rolled over, two bombs detached from its belly and hit dead center on the tank. Explosions blossomed over the tank and smashed it to dust. We all dived for cover as twisted pieces of metal shot overhead. The noise must have been incredible, but I couldn't hear. The compression waves slammed through my chest, making it difficult to breath.  
  
I was hunkered down behind a large piece of brick and mortar. I wanted nothing more that to lie there until my hearing returned, but in front of my eyes I watched as a group of SS troops came to find out what all the noise was about. We opened fire on sight. 


	5. Getting Even

I forced myself to aim and pop off rounds at the advancing Germans. The Hurricane came around again and strafed the soldiers. The .303 rifle rounds cut into the Germans, scattering them on the ground. Nearby a grenade exploded, sending a shower of dirt onto me. Even so, as long as we had air support, we could hold out. Almost as I thought it, a pair of Messhershmidts dropped from the clouds and chased the Hurricane off. Lieutenant Morgan was screaming something into the radio receiver. He handed it back to Vogul and screamed "Displace!" We all ran back to the nearest cover and started firing again. I tracked one running Nazi and burned him down with three rounds. More Nazi fire came at us. Lt. Morgan let loose a whole magazine of hot lead zingers while I reloaded. Another squad of SS reinforced this squad. We came to the realization that we were in serious trouble. We displaced and hightailed it back towards the Allied part of the city. We ran as fast as possible, cutting from one ally to the next. We then rushed into a building and climbed to the top floor. An HE round had taken off one of the sidewalls of the room. We all lined along the ledge on out chests and waited for the soldiers to pass. The SS troops walked by the building but none of them looked up and saw us. Lieutenant Morgan breathed a sigh of relief. He crouched in front of us. "Okay, were going to complete the patrol. Run an ammo check and make sure that you are ready to go. Han, I want you on point." Han nodded. I took a drink from my canteen. The sun had burned off all the cloud cover and now it was warm without being truly hot. We set out again, pushing forward. We went about 400 yards in without seeing any Germans, but we new they were close, we could hear them fighting near us. The sound of MG-42 fire was coming steadily closer. We continued on, even a little more careful. Little did we know, we were being watched. I slung my carbine over my arm and pulled out my canteen. I took a drink from it and grimaced at the warm liquid. I stepped into the shade where Han was standing. That's when it happened. I heard the low thump, like a sledgehammer hitting a bag of wheat. Horn tumbled down, then the sound the shot rolled over us. "Cover!" I yelled. I dropped back behind the side of the building. We waited for several minutes, more for our own adrenaline to leave our systems then to confuse the sniper. I looked over at Morgan, who had taken cover behind three barrels filled with rainwater. As I watched, he poked his head around the side to take a look, then ducked it back in quickly. No shots came, so he held his head out again, this time a little longer, still nothing happened. He finally gave us the signal to come out from cover. I ran to Han, he had taken the shot to one of his lungs, the blood that was soaking his M41 field jacket was a bright red, as was the blood that he was coughing up onto my hands. I had no formal medical training, sure I knew how to treat a gunshot with the kit on my belt, and I had seen medics treat gunshot wounds hundreds of times before this, but I had never had to do it. I yanked at my kit and took out a field dressing and tore it open, slapping the pad down to his chest. Lt. Morgan aided by taking out a package of sulfa and spreading it around the wound to prevent infection. I was temped to give Han some morphine, but knew that it would be unadvisable to administer to a chest wound, as it would slow his heart rate down too much. Han let out a series of hard, racking coughs and then laid still, a thin band of bright red blood running down the side of his mouth onto the ground. I stood up next to him and let the dressing that was soaked with blood drop from my hand. The rest of the squad was out in the open, standing in a circle around their dead friend, all in shocked silence. This was very unusual when fighting the Germans, Medics were treated as non-combatants by both sides and German commanders were very strict about not shooting opposing sides medics, this shocked and disgusted the soldiers that had seen it as well as enraging them. We wanted to spend more time and linger around Han's body, but the Germans were on the move and would be advancing to us soon. "Better dig quick." Said Sgt. Morgan, removing the entrenching tool from his web gear. Stankowitz looked at Morgan hold the E-tool in his hand. "But sir, the Germans are advancing, they'll find us before we finish." He whined to the Sergeant. "I don't care, Stankowitz. I'll be damned before I leave on of my troops on the battlefield without a proper burial. That's how we show respect to our dead." Said Morgan angrily. "Your crazy, Sarge. Doing this is suicide, I refuse to." He said in an insolent tone. I stepped forward, undoing the flap on the holster containing my .45 and placing my hand on the butt of the weapon. "Are you refusing an order from your Sergeant?" I asked. "I guess I am, Corporal." He said and started to walk off. I pulled the M1911 out of its holster and began to bring it up, but Sgt. Morgan signaled for me to stop before I shot him. I let the pistol drop to my side, but didn't replace it in its holster. There was a good chance that if Sgt. Morgan wanted to make a report of this Stankowitz would be court-martialed for cowardice and insubordination, possibly even put to death. On the other hand, he did make a cowardly point, if we waited, we would probably have uninvited visitors. Morgan stood silent, contemplating his next action. Oinker stepped forward to follow Stankowitz and then so did Vogul. Finally Morgan walked up to Han's body. He took the wool blanket from the dead man's pack and covered his body with it. Then he stood up and motioned for us to catch up to Stankowitz. Morgan stepped up beside him and I followed closely behind the two. "I won't lie to you Private, you did have reason to question that order, but your opinion of it does not matter. You have no right to question one of my orders, period. There will be an official inquiry into your actions. Frankly, your lucky that I didn't have you shot." Stankowitz remained silent, staring straight ahead. Morgan shook his head and stepped in front of him, leading the squad. As we walked, I kept an eye on all the buildings that spanned up around the street. A sniper had already hit us once; I didn't want it to happen again. Towards the north of us I could hear the groaning noise of the treads of German armor. They were close, we bunched up a little more and ran as quiet as possible. Alemann was point man now, I watched the lanky soldier move. The thin man looked somewhat comical with his thick, wire-frame issue glasses and crew cut hair. He held his Garand ready, and he moved foreword carefully, testing every movement and taking note of every sound, the man could have made corporal in a second, damn shame that he wouldn't hack it. Alemann waved us foreword. We walked along carefully. I stuck to the rear of the squad, watching for any enemy units moving up behind us. The sounds of machinegun fire in the distance had become silent. A light rain had begun to fall. I turned my head to look behind me, then, seeing that it was clear, I looked back. That was just in time to have Oinker's bulk thrown into me. The force of impact threw me to the ground and then trapped me under the dead weight. "Sniper!" yelled Plouffee, firing the clip in his rifle at where he figured the sniper might be, more trying to prevent another shot from hitting anyone then to actually kill the sniper. The squad dispersed to the sides of the streets, up along the buildings where the small amounts of rubble might provide some cover. I, being the unlucky one in the group, was caught struggling to get out from under Oinker's dead weight. I pushed and pulled my way out, making only slow progress. What generally isn't realized is that a dead body really weighs a lot, even more when you add about forty pounds of gear and ammo and a rifle. My helmet had rolled to the side, leaving my head unprotected, and my rifle lay pinned across my abdomen. I could feel the cold water from the rain soaking my field jacket, and the warmth of Oinker's blood coming through the front. It was then that the German's caught up to us. Just as I emerged from Oinker's bulk, a dozen Germans turned the corner. I fired on the run, dodging bullets. I finally made it to the cover of an old burned out Studebaker that had crashed into a building. I fired over the top of the car. The SS troops were being cut down from the Americans that had already taken cover. Even thought they were being fired on with little cover, they put up a fight. 9mm parabellum rounds slashed across the Studebaker. Metal chips flew up and tried to cut at me. I returned fire at the Kraut holding the MP40, my rounds cutting into his upper chest, spinning him around and putting him down for good. I looked over at Vogul. He had taken cover on the opposite side of the street from the rest of our squad. He was screaming into the hand piece and firing his M1 Carbine with one hand. He yelled one last time, then broke out and rushed across the street. I spun and brought up my carbine, giving him as much cover as possible. The Krauts had dug in under cover and were now holding position. I dropped down behind the car and crammed a new clip into my gun. Lt. Morgan was yelling and motioning for me to come to the other side of the street. I cocked my rifle and then beat feet to the other side of the street. Lt. Morgan yelled to me, "We've got artillery support! Get you head down!" I grabbed my helmet and buried my head as the deadly steel rain began. The Germans all made a very deadly mistake, they ran. An artillery barrage does most of its damage by shrapnel. If you are in a foxhole, or even laying on the ground, you stand a much better chance of living than if you are standing up, as these Germans were. The slight whistle grew to a deafening howl as the shells traveled down towards their targets. Down the street three large explosions billowed up, growing so large that they seemed to be one. The running SS troops were engulfed in the flame, disappearing. Just as the sound of those shells going off faded, three more screamed down and slammed in nearly the same place, pushing over walls and entire structures. Dust dropped down onto us. Small rocks and mortar that had been thrown up into the sky pelted around us as it landed. I sat up. The smoke thinned out. We could see no Germans, although we found the remains of their weapons, either they had managed to run away fast enough by dropping their weapons and equipment, which was unlikely, or they had been blown to bits. Lt. Webber grabbed the radio hand piece off Vogul's back. "Fire mission accomplished, thank you very much." He spoke into it. Stankowitz ran out to Oinker's form. "Stankowitz, get back here right now, the sniper may still be out there." Stankowitz didn't listen; he unhooked the shovel from his gear and started to dig a grave. We all held back, not ready to expose ourselves to the sniper's possible fire. I looked over at Lt. Morgan; he looked like he was ready to storm over and put Stankowitz into the grave that he was digging. I could understand his anger, we had to leave Han behind, unburied, because of Stankowitz's whining, now nothing had changed, but he was putting the entire squad at risk because he wanted to bury his own fallen friend. Not that we wouldn't have buried Oinker, but we would have done it when we were sure that we had got the sniper and it was safe for us to all dig, making it go that much faster. We watched as he dug the hole. He finally had it big enough to bury Oinker; Stankowitz stood up, dropped his shovel and placed his hands on his hips, almost as it to show us that he was still safe. The sniper's shot rang out in the cool air. Stankowitz's knee of his left leg exploded. He yelled out and fell over, gripping his knee. Morgan grabbed the radio. "White Knight to Black Rook, we need another barrage, we are encountering sniper fire, over." He waited. "Rodger that White Knight, we need some coordinates, over." Stated the fire controller. That was it, we didn't know where the sniper was, we could guess and still hit him, but we didn't want to accidentally kill any civilians, who often hid in the remains of buildings, refusing to leave the combat zone. Lt. Morgan looked around for a moment, trying to spot where the sniper might be. Then he called out, "Stankowitz, where's the sniper?"  
  
Stankowitz blinked as tears ran out of his eyes. He held his knee with both hands; blood and bone fragments were pumped out of the wound around his hands as he whimpered. "Damn it Stankowitz, you tell me where that sniper is or we'll all die." Yelled Morgan. Stankowitz lifted his hand and pointed. Lt. Morgan risked a look around the side of the building at where he was pointing. A second shot rang out, making a comical ping as it went through Stankowitz's helmet. Blood ran down his face from a wound that we couldn't see, and then he fell limp. Lt. Webber grabbed the radio and relayed coordinates. "Rodger, barrage coming in, over." Responded the fire control officer. I heard several thumps in the distance and then heard the screaming as the shells plummeted to earth near our position. Myself and Lt. Webber both looked around the side of the building as they came down on the building. Three huge geysers of HE collided around the building that we watched. With a tremendous groaning sound, the building collapsed onto the street. Huge plumes of dust rushed towards us. I closed my eyes and held my breath as it rolled over me, then waited for it to settle. I opened my eyes and looked around. The building was demolished into a pile of brick and wood, most of which was flaming. The rain was now pouring down on us, threatening to extinguish the flames, but it served to rinse the dust off of our uniforms. I stood up and checked the squad, "everyone alright?" I called out. Everyone said they were, then Lt. Morgan glanced around the corner again to make sure that the sniper was down, then proceeded to step out towards Stankowitz and Oinker's bodies. He removed their tags and then rolled them into the fresh grave, which was now filling with water. After they were in, we neglected to cover them, since they were so vocal about not burying Han due to our proximity to the Germans; we just figured that it would be nice to return the favor. We moved out. Our patrol was nearly done and had been successful. We hitched a ride on a passing deuce and a half to get back to the general area that we were staying in, then took over a church for the overnight stay. As the men talked, I sat back and brewed up some C-ration coffee and enjoyed a cup of the wretched beverage, it had been designed to keep people up and alert, not to taste good after all. I handed a cup of it to Lt. Morgan, who was sitting nearby. "Rough day at the office." I commented. "Yep," he nodded. "Its not like I enjoyed having Stankowitz around that much, but I'm almost sorry to lose him." He said. "Well, at least he got put in his place one last time." I said. Morgan nodded. "We're supposed to be pushing through the city tomorrow. It's our job to cut off the Kraut's supplies. Well take them by surprise when they are still in the forest outside the city." I nodded and sipped on my coffee. "We had best get some sleep. Big day tomorrow." He said. "They're all big days." I commented as I looked through my things to find my blanket. 


	6. The Major

I awoke the next morning to sunlight streaming in on my face. I got up off the ground and stretched, telling myself that I would clean up my blanket and gear when I found out what was going on. I grabbed my hygiene kit from my gear and walked out of the church to shave, brush my teeth and take care of some more personal business, then on the way back I woke up my men. Lt. Morgan was gone probably in some sort of a meeting or a briefing. The men were ready in minutes, as was I. I stepped up to the heavy wood door and opened it, blinking as the sunlight streamed in. We grouped outside and waited. A few minutes later, Morgan stepped over. "Sergeant Stone." He motioned to me. I rose to my feet and walked over to him. He handed me several pieces of paper and a map, on which were several markings. "The plan was that I was going to lead the mission today, Sergeant, but the Major wants me to head down to Battalion today, so I'm handing it over to you." "Yes sir." I said. "You've got the operations order, and that map has the latest intel on it. You've got everything that you need for today." He explained. "Thank you, sir." I said "Good luck, Sergeant." I stepped back to the squad. "Okay everyone, change of plans. The mission stays the same, but I'm going to be leading the squad for the duration. Now when we move out, we're going to move north, so we should run into a supply line. Lets move out. We walked away from the town, talking and laughing as we went, but became more silent as we reached more forested areas, about two miles from our starting point. I stopped the squad to put Han and his BAR on point. I figured the extra firepower would be best used right there if we ran into any resistance. I was very nervous about encountering the enemy. Not because I was leading the squad, but because there was only one person from my original squad here and that was Miller. I was leading people that had been in combat only once or twice at most. It was about an hour before we saw anything. We were walking when Han suddenly dropped and signaled for us to do the same thing. I crawled up beside him. He pointed to an area about 20 degrees to our right. There were several camouflaged German soldiers draping camo netting across a half track while three more were repairing a damaged track towards the rear of the vehicle. Three more were away from the others, looking off in another direction. I pulled out my binoculars and studied the three. Two were corporals, both carrying MP40s, the third man was older, his rank was Sturmbanfurhur, a German Major. This was a large find, German officers were notoriously difficult to capture. If we could get this one, that would give us a definite advantage over the German forces in this sector. We had to snatch him, now. I waved a few of my men forward. "Listen, I want those two soldiers first, then the ones on the half- track, that one in the middle, the officer, can't be hit. I passed my binoculars down the line so everybody could see what I was talking about, then the optics came back to me. "Everyone choose a target." I called out. Everyone aimed at one. I brought out my carbine and aimed at the middle soldier of the three working on the track. I squeezed the trigger three times, signaling a hail of fire. The shots rang out. I saw the my soldier jerk, then slump forward against the vehicle. My men picked off the soldiers on either side of the major, leaving a stunned SS officer alive. Han broke formation and ran directly for the officer, the man did not even have time to turn before he used his BAR as a club and slammed the man to the ground. He reached back into his web gear for cord to tie the man up. I rushed forward, stopping for a moment to make sure all of the Nazis were down. I held my weapon on the rear of the track, waiting for someone to poke their head up, but nothing happened. Nothing happened, I eased up a little, waiting for something to happen. When nothing did, I took out one of my grenades and tossed it over the top and into the rear of the vehicle. I heard several screams just before the weapon went off, tossing one German completely out of the back. A plume of white smoke shot out of the rear of the vehicle. I picked myself up off the ground and looked at the vehicle. The outside looked fine, except for the broken track, but white smoke that stunk of cordite was lifting out of the back. The afternoon breeze quickly dissipated it once it was out of the vehicle. I looked over at Han; he was holding the Major at gunpoint with his BAR. "Nice grab." I congratulated him. "I'd watch him, he's a shifty little bastard." Said Han, giving the man a jab with the barrel of his machine gun. I was about to wave the rest of the squad over, who had stayed in their positions like I had told them to, when I heard a slight groan in the bushes, about 20 yards to my left. Han moved off to check it, leaving me with the Major. I took this moment to study the man. He wore that damned orange oak leaf camo that made them so hard to spot. He had the standard Kraut helmet instead of the officer's cap and an officer's web gear. The holster on his belt was empty, I looked around and found his pistol laying about where Han had been standing. I picked it up, a Wather P-38. a reliable kraut weapon, a good choice for an officer. I chambered a round in the pistol and used it to cover him, slinging my carbine on my back. I looked at the man's face. He had jet black hair, but graying at the temples. He had a large bushy handlebar mustache also flecked with gray hairs. He was slightly overweight, but gave the authoritarian appearance of an officer. I looked over at Han, who had apparently found a not quite dead German solder in the bushes. As I watched, Han kicked the man over and raised his BAR to his chest, then fired a burst into the man. His chest opened up in response to the close range automatic fire from the powerful weapon. A wave of anger ran through me, how dare he! There were strict rules of engagement and conduct that we had to follow; these rules did not include shooting wounded soldiers, even if they were the enemy. This was the type of thing that gave the military a bad name. I restrained my anger for the moment and turned my attention the Kraut Major. Han returned to my side. I held the pistol in my lap, still pointed in the Major's direction. I then waved the squad to my position and out of concealment. They grouped up on me. "Ensign, get the Bazooka ready. Plouffee, do you still have that bundle that I told you to carry?"  
  
"Yes, Sarge." He said and handed me a canvas bag that he had stored in his pack. I took it from him and opened it, dumping the contents into his lap. The contents were an issue pair of GI pants, shirt, leggings and an M41 field jacket. I had planned for the contingency of capturing someone important. I motioned for the man to put the uniform on. He complied silently. "Vogul, radio back. Have taken a prisoner, aborting mission and returning to base." I looked over at the Major, he was taking his sweet time getting into the uniform. I motioned for him to hurry up, and then took his web gear from him. I took the two spare magazines for his P-38 and stuffed them into one of the pockets on my field jacket. The Major got the uniform on, then we prodded him away from the half- track. Ensign set up his bazooka and fired. The shell was propelled out of the tube and into the engine of the vehicle, then he put another into the tracks, just to make sure that it wouldn't be moving any time soon. I moved the squad out and the lingered in the rear, signaling Han to remain with me. "Soldier, I should have you court-martialed." I said to him. "Why?" He asked, genuinely oblivious to why I might be upset with him. "Shooting wounded and unarmed Germans is an offense, even you would know that. More than that, it gives the service a bad name and sure as hell doesn't make us look good." "So what? Now were court-martialing soldiers for killing the enemy?" He countered. "You take it as you will, but remember, when we get back to base, this incident will be reported and the necessary actions will be taken." I informed him He remained silent. That was all right, I didn't want to hear anything from him anyway I moved to the front of our line. Miller was walking point, his BAR ready to go. The captured Major walked behind him, his hands tightly bound with some rope. We prodded him back towards the city. With the US uniform on, any Germans would see the Major as just another Allied soldier. To top off the idea, I picked up a helmet and a Garand from a dead US soldier, then placed the helmet on his head and slung the rifle on his back, once I had unloaded it, of course. We continued moving, right until we reached a clearing. We were still in the treeline when we saw the tank. The squad dropped, pulling the Major down with them. I poked my head up and watched. It looked like the tank was a Panzer Four, with about two squads of Infantry backing it up. Ensign slid up beside me and clicked the safety off his bazooka. "Ease off, Ensign. The bazooka won't do anything but let them know where we are. As I watched, the Kraut tank moved towards us, churning up gouts of earth under its treads, then the unbelievable happened. One troop was walking beside the tank. His eyes played over our position, then the man spotted us. His hand rose to motion towards our position. I snapped up my carbine and fired two shots. The spinning .30 caliber bullets cut cleanly into his chest and did not exit. The bolt on my rifle locked open and I dropped the clip out of it to reload. There was general confusion in the Germans. They couldn't figure out where the shot had come from because of the noise from the tank's engine. My squad opened up on them. Three or four fell before they even returned fire. Automatic fire crackled at us in response. More fire hit the Germans while Ensign fired his bazooka, the shell of which promptly ricocheted off the surface of the turret. The skin on the beast was far to thick to be penetrated by the round. The tank stopped and the turret swiveled towards us. I knew we only had a few seconds while the gunner switched from an armor-piercing round to a high explosive one designed to kill infantry or unarmored vehicles. "GO, GO, GO!" I yelled and hauled Ensign out of the way. I heard the gun fire and dived. The explosion sent me rolling. I came up in a crouch as the hatch on top of the tank opened and an MP38 totting Kraut started firing. The man started to shake as the bullets that my men fired cut into him, sending him back into the tank. We moved out of the way as the tank swiveled to bring its machinegun to bear. I ran up alongside the tank, looking along the turret. On most German tanks, they had incorporated a rather interesting feature to protect the tank from attacks by infantry. They had made a spherical swivel port with a hole in the center. The idea was that when infantry approached the tank, one of the tank crew would fire a machine gun or another small arm out of the port. The only drawback was that other enemy infantry could also fire through these ports if they could get close enough. That was what I was about to do. I held the muzzle of my rifle against the hole and fired until I was out of ammo in my clip. I yanked my rifle out and rant as a stream of automatic fire came back at me. I ran back to regroup with my squad. Then I heard the crack and roar of an armor piercing shell being fired and punching through the side of the Panzer. The tank tried to swivel to track what had fired on it, but the damage was too severe. Another shell hit the tank and put it down for good. I glanced around to see where the shells were coming from. With a growl from its gas engine a British Cromwell tank approached us. The tank came to a stop, then the hatch on top opened up and the tank commander stood up. "What the bloody hell are you waiting around for? Don't you know how close the Jerries are? Hop on for a ride." We gladly climbed on and found places to sit. The commander shouted an order to his men below and the powerful vehicle lurched into motion. I nudged the Major with my carbine and told him to sit still. The Brit tank commander looked at me with a quizzical look on his face. Then the realization hit him. "Oh, he's a Jerry?" I nodded. I slid up onto the turret to explain what had happened. I told him about our original mission, how we found the half-track and the Major, and how we got where we were. I asked him if he could give us a ride back to our base. He looked thoughtful for a moment. "Well, it would be a large deviation from our plan, but if it would end the bloody stalemate in this sector, why not?" He reached down into the tank and came out with a canteen. He took a draught off it and then passed it to me. I took and experimental sip. Warm brandy. With a grimace, I tossed back a drink of the putrid substance. I handed him back the canteen and we drove on. 


End file.
